Intersections ~ Love, Betrayal, Murder (The Chicago Trilogy)

By Linda Rae Blair

Our lives intersect with those of others without advance warning of the consequences. Sometimes, the effects can last a lifetime. Three lives suffering loss due to murder and betrayal intersect in early 1900 Chicago. It’s not safest place to hide from life, loss, or memories.

“Where is Harry?” Published May 2008

Young Mary's life takes her into a world of murder, hatred, madness, and a betrayal of the worst kind. Her only prayer throughout the horror is that her brother, who she has never met, will rescue her.

“Claire: New York Heiress – Chicago Madam” Published October 2008

After the loss of everyone she loves, other than a circle of school friends from Paris, Claire is forced to run for her life. In Chicago her life intersects with Mary's in what initially seems an inconsequential way.

“Richard: It’s In The Blood” First time in print was in this trilogy volume. Later it was published as a stand-alone novel for those who had read Harry and Claire.

Richard's life is impacted by the murder of his father, and the betrayal by her mother. After relocating to Chicago, he finds he cannot outrun his past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Rae Blair
• Release date: Feb 16, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452304274

Linda Rae Blair

Raleigh artist, Linda Rae Blair was born and raised in St. Louis, Missouri. She has used her knowledge gained during extensive travel throughout the United States and her passion for art, history, mysteries, and scenery to create compact novels with rich characters so real you'll miss them when they're gone and places you'll swear you've been. She has lived in Seattle, WA, Monterey Bay, CA, Cincinnati, OH, and retired five years ago in the Raleigh, NC area.Her love of history is well-earned. She is a direct descendant of John Alden and Priscilla Mullins of Mayflower fame. She is also descended from a strong line of Scots-Irish immigrants to America in the 1700s. She even had a great uncle who was robbed by the infamous outlaw Belle Starr.Her Scottish love story, “Elusive”, spans 200 years of Scottish history and intrigue via setting in 1700s Scotland and early 1900s Paris and Scotland.An avid reader who inhales novels by Nora Roberts, Sandra Brown and others in the romance/mystery genres, her imagination takes you to a variety of places and times all in the same story.Her travels to the beautiful southwestern states inspired her more modern historic romance combined with mystery, “100 Years of Brotherly Love”.Her mystery series, The Preston Andrews Mysteries now has 12 published entries, beginning with “Hard Press’d” which now claims over 50,000 downloads and, most recently, the softcover print version of the series in compilation form.Ms. Blair has spent many happy hours in Virginia Beach during off-season, when the winds blow cold and hard and the salty air whips at the weather-protected palms. This is the locale chosen for her Preston Andrews series. Locals and visitors alike find many familiar frames of reference in this series.Her homage to her love for Poirot is via her teeny tiny mystery, “The Board Game Murders”.Her newest series is aimed at a slightly younger and more female audience from that of The Preston Andrews series but begins in the backstory in “Pressing Reunion”.The Samantha Hartley, PI series is lighter and features a very young and not terribly experienced private investigator just beginning her career—with a slight assist from the Director of the FBI.One thing is for certain, she combines her passions into stories interesting to history buffs, travelers, and lovers of romance and mystery.

Book preview

Intersections: Love, Betrayal, Murder

( Chicago Trilogy)

Linda Rae Blair

This book is also available in print on Amazon or the author’s web site

http://lindaraeblairauthor.wordpress.com/

Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names, events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, dialog in this novel are either the products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Where is Harry? Copyright 2008

Linda Rae Blair

ISBN: 978-1-4523-7649-3

Claire: A Woman’s Journey – New York Heiress ~ Chicago Madam Copyright 2008

Linda Rae Blair

ISBN: 978-1-4523-7762-9

Richard: It’s In The Blood

ISBN: 978-1-4581-1575-1

Intersections – Love, Betrayal, Murder –The Chicago Trilogy

Copyright 2009 Linda Rae Blair

Published by Linda Rae Blair at Smashwords

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the copyright owner.

ISBN: 978-1-4523-0427-4

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

Writing is not as solitary an endeavor as some might suppose. Oh, the initial phase is certainly done with as little outside influence as the author can manage—often done during long hours of dreary-eyed computer input ending at 4 AM. But the finishing touches—ah, those require the input of dedicated friends and sometimes even helpful strangers.

I must admit that I have never been any good at proofing my own work. Therefore, the assistance of people who can be trusted to catch me when I err is invaluable. Two wonderful friends have made a project out of protecting me from me in this endeavor—Jane and Pat!

Once again, Jane Vincent has come through with time, editorial work, suggestions, and enthusiasm. Her enjoyment of the editorial effort has made the writing process a joy! Here’s hoping we get to continue for many years. Of course, Dennis must also be noted here for what you tell me is an infinite amount of patience and understanding, while you tend to my busy-work.

Many thanks go to Patricia Borror-Stier for eagerly volunteering her expertise. Your drive for excellence is much appreciated. You’ve been watching over me for years—this time it was for fun. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Here’s hoping we get to do it again!

Of course the initial instigator of this effort is due many thanks!! Bevelyn, without you there never would have been a first book—let alone #4 which is now in process! Thanks also to the many others who continued to support me throughout the writing process of all three parts of the trilogy. These include, but certainly are not limited to, Samantha Rae, Julia, Lori, Karen, Anna, Paul, Gail, Cleo, Wayne, Cindi, Matt. The rest of you know who you are—you are just too numerous to mention here. Your encouragement, enthusiasm, and support kept me rolling through the writing and publishing process of all three parts of the trilogy. Thanks to Rose and Rochelle King for urging me forward on this path in the very early stages—once Bevelyn got me rolling!

People in law enforcement play a large part in these novels. I have nothing other than the highest regard for those in law enforcement, whether civil or military.

Historical information on police equipment and the availability of what were then the most modern of inventions can be rather daunting. Special thanks to Captain Paul Broxterman of the Cincinnati Police Academy and Sergeant Tom Waller, Board Member of the Greater Cincinnati Police Historical Society, for their assistance and guidance with their force’s historical information. The information they provided was adapted to the Hamilton force for this book. Any errors in this adaptation are entirely my own.

The Bureau of Investigation (now known as the FBI), the Secret Service, and the police forces of Cincinnati and Hamilton, Ohio, have my apologies for any artistic license taken with historical issues.

I may have twisted history just a wee bit…I hope you will forgive me. After all, that’s what fiction is all about! Any errors should be blamed on the author as artistic license.

FORWARD:

We come together on the path of life—our destinies sometimes merging, eventually parting again.

Sometimes the meeting is brief, poignant, strong, but still somehow temporary. Other times the effect of the meeting lasts a lifetime—weaving its way throughout the lives of those involved through joy, sadness, hope, loss, and pain—a link that never dies.

The strong survive these meetings; the weak may be destroyed by them. Few can remain ambivalent. The partings, though they sometimes happen before we even realize it, can affect the rest of the lives of those left behind.

What started on a rural Minnesota farm; New York City; and Hamilton, Ohio before the end of the nineteenth century had an impact that none of the participants could have predicted. Like a tapestry, the picture would not be clear until the stories were completely woven—the intersections made in Chicago, Illinois. Later the separations would be accomplished, by whatever means. For those involved it would take until well into the twentieth century before their full stories could finally be told.

LOVE

Where is Harry

To Samantha Rae who thinks everything I do is great and never hesitates to tell me so.

PROLOGUE:

3:17 AM, February 1907 - Bemidgi, Minnesota

She stood staring at someone she had loved. Glancing down at the papers that had fallen from his satchel when she accidentally knocked it off the table, she just stood there stunned. How could she have been so terribly wrong?

She didn’t have time to calm herself as he came walking into the room. She looked up at him with her feeling of disgust clear on her face. How could you be involved in something like this? I just don’t understand.

What are you doing with that, he screamed at her as he grabbed back the documents. How dare you violate my privacy? He pushed the documents back into his satchel and firmly secured the lock.

Privacy has nothing to do with this. This is evil. Looking at him with her eyes now open to see him for what he really was. She gasped. My God, she said, as the reality suddenly struck her. You are evil. This is what you’ve been up to all this time.

Evil? he snarled at her. You think this is evil? What do you know of evil? His fist swung up to her jaw, and she fell backward against the bed. He stormed toward her. His fury was so great he felt he would explode with it. She had ruined everything. He couldn’t leave her alive now.

She was crying and trying to fight him, but her heart was broken and fear had her paralyzed. No one had ever raised a hand to her before. Her face hurt so badly where he had struck her that she thought her jaw might be broken. She was unable to think straight from the shock of her discovery and this violence from someone she thought she knew so well.

The rage on his face was outside her experience; her late husband had been such a mild-mannered man. This man, her lover, was out of his mind with anger, and she had no idea how she was going to protect herself. She had to protect herself to stay alive and protect Katherine.

But as the realization hit her that her daughter’s only chance lay in her hands, she also knew she was not going to survive this night and would not be able to save her. As she was losing consciousness, her final thought was, Run Katherine, run my darling little girl. Then suddenly all thought, fear and pain stopped.

* * *

Mama! Mama! she screamed. The flames were so hot they hurt her face even this far away. Mama! The little girl’s big brown eyes were red and swollen as she hung tight to the neighbor lady’s neck. As they moved further away from the house she was screaming in panic. Why wouldn’t they help her get to her mama? Why was everybody just standing there watching the house burn?

Katherine was terrified, caught in a nightmare that had started a little over an hour ago. So little time and yet, young and frightened as she was, she understood very clearly that her life was never going to be the same.

Shh, little one. Your mama cannot hear you anymore, The old woman tried to soothe the child in her shaking voice thick with a Swedish accent. Peggy Johansson hugged the terrified little girl tighter. How were they supposed to explain to a child not much older than three that her mama was dead, burned to death in that blaze? The whole family was gone now, but for this poor little thing.

Harald had died of the scarlet fever. Then little Chrissie found dead in bed with Katherine from the same terrible plague that had swept through Minnesota a few short years ago. Her papa had brought them here from the big city for a simpler life. Well off enough he didn’t have to worry like his neighbors whether or not his small crops or forest acreage prospered, Harald had always been the first to come to the rescue when a neighbor needed help. Peggy remembered them all kindly.

Why she and Nils had lost their own son, Henry, that same winter after Chrissie died and just weeks before he was to marry. Oh, those were bad times, she sighed. Now this dear, sweet woman gone too and only this sweet little child was left. The sadness was like a heavy weight in her chest.

She wondered briefly about Sarah’s boy; a young man he’d be by now. He’s always seemed to love his mama so—took such good care of her after his papa died. Then he had suddenly vanished. Surely he couldn’t have survived on his own all this time. No, she felt certain the boy was dead too. Sarah would have heard from him. The girl’s shaking in her arms, brought Peggy back from the memories.

Tonight as Peggy Johansson and Nils, her husband, had settled down in their parlor for the evening, Peggy had briefly gone to the window to see if the snow was still coming down. It had been sporadic for the last few days with little accumulation. When she pulled back her curtains, she noticed the strange moving light in the distance—it was coming from the farm across their pasture land. She’d seen it before and knew this meant someone had a fire—a serious fire.

Nils, fire! There’s a fire at Sarah’s! She and Nils grabbed their coats, hats, and gloves and ran out of their farmhouse. They had rushed across the pasture, but could clearly see that the house was being completely destroyed and so was anyone inside. Then as they held each other and moved past the spring house, they’d heard her. By this time other neighbors began arriving. Nils and the other men had gone to the well to try to keep the fire from spreading. But there was nothing that they could do to prevent the horror that had already occurred.

Little Katherine was quieting now. The fire had started to die down and the entire house was gone. She didn’t feel the cold as the fire died down. Nor was she aware any longer that Peggy was humming in her ear and rocking her from side to side with tears of her own running down her weathered cheeks.

She looked down at the child whose face was covered with grime streaked with so many tears. What had she been doing hiding in the spring house? In this cold weather she could have died in there. Why if she and Nils hadn’t heard her whimpering as they passed the door way, they’d never have found her in time. Whatever the reason, thank the good Lord she hadn’t been in the house with her mama when that fire started. She’d be dead too.

Katherine was off in her own private hell. Why hadn’t she stayed with mama when she heard her scream? Why had she run out the back to hide in the little house as she and Mama had called it? Why had the mean man come to their house?

Her next thought was about her brother. Everything would be okay. He would come and find Mama and things would be okay again. She’d never met him, but Mama had made sure she knew lots about him. How he had carried Chrissie to his fishin’ spot every weekend during good weather and had taught her to be quiet so the fish wouldn’t know they were there.

She put her head down on Peggy’s shoulder and trembled with fear and shock. Her thoughts drifted off to the times when Mama had told her about her brother. Mama, she thought, lots of times she was very, very sad, but never angry with him. Sometimes she would hear Mama crying in the night. Other times her eyes were so sad Katherine could see the tears in them. Some nights before bedtime, Mama would spend the time she spent brushing her long, long dark hair sharing wonderful stories about him when he was a little boy–about his freckles that crossed over his cheeks and across his nose like hers, and how smart he was. This was their special time; Mama sharing Harry with her.

A shiver went through her. How would he ever find her? He would come find her! Yes, he would come for her. She just knew it! And he would help her find Mama. What was it Mama always said? Keep believing and good things would come to you. Well she was going to keep believing in Harry.

Meanwhile, old Peggy was facing a very tough reality. Sarah was dead, and this poor, little child now had no one but them. She knew that she and Nils were too old to take on the responsibility of raising the girl. As much as they loved Sarah and her child, she knew the impossibility of them living long enough to raise her. She would need a good stable home soon and one that would last her for at least another fifteen years.

If only their Henry was still alive, but there was no use standing here any longer wishing for something that could never be. The child was near frozen. They should get her indoors quickly. They’d take Elizabeth to their nearby farm and care for her until other arrangements could be made. Looking into Nils’ weatherworn face, she saws the understanding on his face as he started to lead them down the road toward home.

Another half dozen or so of their neighbor men remained behind to put out the fire. It was obviously too late for anyone inside what had been a lovely little house. It wasn’t like some of the earthen houses found in this part of the country, but a substantial little house with plenty of room for what had been a lovely family of five. Their concern now was keeping it from spreading to the forest nearby. The cold and the snow that had started falling again just minutes ago would help, but vigilance was still called for.

As they walked into their pasture, they stopped and looked back once to let it all sink in. It had been kept from spreading to the nearby forest land they so prized in this part of Minnesota, but they had lost something much more valuable this night.

As they moved along, Nils turned and took the child from Peggy’s arms. Katherine snuggled into his warm coat and felt herself getting groggy. As she fell into a deep sleep that would dull the horror of the last hour for too brief a while, Mary had only one thought…

Where is Harry?

2

The Escape

As he drove south, he found himself gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles had gone white.

What the hell had she done? The bitch had had to die; there was absolutely no getting around it. How dare she think she could question him? Look down on him? Judge him? His work was important, vital and was none of her business. He could feel the rage start to course through him again.

He took a deep breath. He had loved her…in his own way, but yes, he was better off with her dead. He would not have to be concerned with her telling anyone about her discovery earlier this evening. He felt himself starting to relax. He hadn’t realized how tense he had gotten over the shock of her discovery. As if she could understand what he was doing! She had no idea just much he achieved in the time he spent away from her.

Ah, yes, now he was feeling under control again. Soon he would be back where he belonged and could get on with his life. No one would ever be the wiser. No one ever knew how often he came to see her. The house was set back enough in the forest that the neighbors couldn’t see who came and went.

Yes, he was safe now; safe from the obsession that kept him coming back, safe from her discovery. Now that she was dead he could start a new future, free of the weight of what he had known for years was risky to his own welfare; and after all, nothing was more important than his welfare.

Then he remembered that not all risk had been eliminated. What if the child had survived? Damn the girl. Where had she been? He had called out to her; tried to get her to come to him. She had not responded; he’d heard nothing. Well, he would just have to keep an eye on the local newspapers for awhile and find out if someone found her; dead or alive.

3

From Haven To Hell

Peggy and Nils had been up with Katherine three times the night before. Her nightmares woke her screaming and so frightened that it would take an hour to get her settled down and asleep again.

The sleepless nights over the last ten days were taking a toll on the aging couple. The poor child couldn’t help it; they understood that and had avoided taking any action on finding a permanent home for her because they didn’t want her to lose another home so soon after losing her mother. She needed a little time to feel safe again.

Unfortunately they couldn’t put it off much longer; something would have to be done about finding a home for her and soon. A big concern to both of them was that she didn’t seem to remember much. She barely spoke and when she did, it was just to say a polite yes ma’am or no sir. She needed help they were unable to give her.

As they sat at the kitchen table talking about what to do next, there was a knock at the door. Nils answered to find a very prim woman in a heavy coat opened enough he could see the expensive looking suit beneath. Her impractical shoes now wet from the slush created by the snow that had started falling about half an hour ago.

Ah, Mr. Johansson, she stammered fumbling with several sheets of paper, Nils Johansson?

Yes, ma’am. How can I help you? Nils didn’t much like what he saw.

My name is Elsie Randolph; I’m with the county social services office, sir. I’ve come to inquire about a child…ah, she shuffled some more papers, a three year old girl named Katherine Larsson.

Yes, come on in, Nils stepped back making way for the thin, stern looking woman to enter the entryway of the farm house.

Peggy came out of the kitchen removing her apron and stood surveying their visitor. She didn’t much like the looks of this one, she decided, but as any good Christian woman, she was willing to hold judgment which wasn’t hers to make, after all. She could see from the look on Nils’ face that he wasn’t going to be as charitable as she.

They led their visitor into the parlor, with its old, comfortable and well worn furnishings. Miss Randolph seemed to be uncomfortable touching the furniture, but finally sat on the edge of the chair opposite the couch where the old couple settled themselves. Nils thought she seemed a might too uppity, to his mind.

Is the child here with you then? their visitor inquired looking from one to the other of the old couple.

Yes, she is. She’s napping right now, Peggy responded. She’s been having a terrible time of it since the fire.

How so? Miss Randolph asked.

She’s very quiet, poor thing. Kind of off in her own little world, she is. Doesn’t hardly speak unless spoken to and she’s been having nightmares that near to scare the life out of her, Peggy explained.

Well, yes. Miss Randolph responded. That doesn’t sound too unusual considering. Well, she sniffed, Have you been contacted by any relatives?

Nils and Peggy both shook their heads sadly. No, Nils replied. There aren’t any relatives living that we know of. She did have an older brother, but he disappeared years ago and no one’s heard from him since.

Ah ha, well then. Miss Randolph stood and faced them, I’ll have to take the child with me Mr. and Mrs. Johansson. She’ll be placed either in the county home for orphans or in foster care. There’s not much choice really with foster homes so sparse in this area, I suspect it’s going to be the orphanage for her.

That’s a real shame. The girl’s as sweet as can be and as polite and well behaved as any little girl could possibly be. She deserves to have a happy life, that little one does, Nils angrily advised this woman who he had now decided he definitely did not like. And uppity didn’t even cover what he was thinking of her right now.

Well, Peggy interrupted, can we come and visit the child now and again? We’re quite attached to her and we were so fond of her mama.

Miss Randolph cleared her throat, No, no. That’s not allowed at all. Best she cuts ties and gets on with her new life, now isn’t it? Shaking her head she looked at the couple for agreement that wasn’t forthcoming. Yes, well, would you please get the child? I need to get her to the county home before nightfall. They don’t much appreciate late arrivals, and the roads are starting to get bad.

Nils and Peggy looked at each other, neither happy with what was going to be done and knowing there really was no choice. Nils left the room, and a few minutes later he returned with Katherine still sleeping with her head on his shoulder. She really don’t have any things. Everything burned up in the fire, he explained.

Peggy leaned over and kissed the sweet, small cheek and tears came to her eyes. Adjö barnet, goodbye child, she whispered to the child in her native Swedish. Peggy knew in her heart she would never see little Katherine again.

4

Find The Child

She was dead, but what about the child? Townsfolk told Frank a variety of stories about what had happened that night, but one thing was certain. The child had survived. There was a variety of information depending on the personal opinion of the teller. Like any juicy story, everybody had an opinion.

No one in town knew him so he was able to ask just about anyone about the story that had been published in the local paper just two years earlier. Why had it taken him so long to pick up on this? Well, it was too late now. He carefully approached the sheriff’s office.

Opening the door he found it almost identical to most any small town police station. The old scarred heavy wooden desk and chair, shuttered windows to at least attempt to keep out the cold, cells in the back and the smell of very bad coffee on the wood burning stove that also served as a heat source in this lousy Minnesota winter weather.

Stomping his feet outside the doorway to remove what snow he could and closing the door behind him quickly to avoid heat loss in the small room, he turned and faced the desk. The sheriff was pretty much what he had expected; an older guy about six-feet tall, slightly overweight, or it could have been the multiple layers of clothing, with ruddy cheeks from too much time out in the Minnesota winter and all the lines from too many years of seeing things he wished he hadn’t.

He looked up at his visitor and the question was written all over that tough face. Ya lookin’ for somebody mister? There was that Swedish accent that you ran into so often in this part of the country.

Well, actually sheriff, I was looking for you? He strode over to the chair beside the desk, Mind if I sit for a minute and warm up? he asked rubbing his hands together to work up some heat. When the sheriff nodded toward the chair, he sat for a moment before getting started.

They shared brief introductions and then he started. Sheriff, I’m looking for information on a fire that happened out on the Larsson property a couple of years ago; would have been about this time of year, he said glancing out the window.

The sheriff didn’t respond.

I’m writing a book and when I read about the fire when going through the newspaper archives I thought, well it sounds like the house, the countryside and the family fit my story like a glove, he hesitated briefly, except for one detail. The sheriff remained silent. My fire wasn’t an accident. He waited a moment for that to sink in for the sheriff before continuing.

The fire in my story was a cover up for murder, but I’m not quite certain how law enforcement would pin that down. Must be pretty difficult deciding when it’s a murder or an accident with a fire; all the evidence being destroyed and all. He decided to wait the sheriff out this time.

After a few moments of concentration, he figured the sheriff was deciding whether or not to share anything with a stranger, the sheriff got up from his desk. Coffee? he asked heading for the small stove and grabbing two tin mugs before getting an answer.

Sure, his visitor responded. Black’s fine.

Gut thing, the sheriff chuckled, we’re plum outta sugar and the milk’s frozen. He passed on a mug of the thickest mud ever to pour out of a pot.

That there fire was set on purpose. The visitor held his breath in anticipation. It’s a hard, hard thing for a pur little widow woman to break her jaw and neck and then set her house afire, the sheriff said shaking his head sadly and plopping back down in his chair. Pur little lady. Sweet one she was. And the child, he sighed.

Oh, there was a child? That’s right. I’d forgotten. The archive did mention a little girl. What happened to her? he prodded hoping for more while at the same time taking the opportunity to catch his breath. The sheriff was lost in thought for a moment, then looking up at the younger man he responded. Ya, there was a little girl. Just about three years old. Prettiest little girl, but she disappeared.

She wasn’t lost in the fire? the visitor asked.

No, no. She got taken by some woman pretending to be a social worker. We never were able to find her. The pur neighbor family what took her in felt so bad about it when they realized what had happened. His voice was barely more than a whisper by the time he finished telling his story. They’re both gone now. Died the next winter, both of them.

That tough, he said matching the sheriff’s mood. But you’re certain about the mother?

Ya, the sheriff responded. We found her body where the bedroom had been and her neck was near snapped in two. She didn’t die easy, he said shaking his head sadly.

Ah, so that’s how you decided it was murder?

Ya. Not much left after a fire like that, but the doctor put homicide on the death certificate.

He thanked the sheriff for helping him with his research and assured him he would be able to use this kind of information in his book, shook hands and got out of there as quickly as he could.

The sheriff watched him leave and said to himself, ya, a writer…this guy had cop written all over him. He didn’t know what he was up to, but it didn’t much matter. It was all ancient history now.

They had to find the child. When he got back to his truck the windows were all fogged up. Frank got the engine started and looked at his passenger, Well, they know she was murdered, he said, and the girl is gone. While the old truck warmed up he explained his conversation with the sheriff.

We’ve got to find her, his passenger responded.

I know, but this isn’t going to be easy. It could take years. His passenger looked at him with pure hatred in his eyes.

I’ve got years, all the years it takes, he replied.

5

Don’t Close Your Eyes

1911 – Oak Park, Illinois

She heard the woman screaming, Katherine, run! It was coming again. Why didn’t it just go away and leave her alone? What did it want? She could hear the voice, but could not understand the words. She knew it was something bad, very bad. Then the footsteps as it got closer and closer, but the harder she ran the closer it got.

It was after her, and she didn’t understand why. She’d always tried to be a good girl. She kept running, but no matter how fast she ran, it was gaining on her; and there was such heat. The heat was almost unbearable.

Suddenly she shot up in the bed. No! No! Harry where are you? Harry, come get me! she screamed.

In the next room Doctor Oliver Stegman turned in the bed to his wife, Ingrid, Another nightmare, he said sounding irritated and groggy.

Ingrid knew this was the sign that she had to get out of their nice warm bed to go check on the girl again. Why they had ever agreed to this, she wondered to herself. Surely there was somewhere else the child could have been placed? Oh well, she thought as she slipped on her robe and slippers, at least the girl was finally getting old enough to help around the house. If they didn’t have to clothe the girl so that they weren’t ashamed to be seen with her, she would have been less impact to their budget than a maid.

It had to be done. They would live with it. Maybe the girl would get sick and they could send her away. Surely they would not be criticized for sending her away if she needed care elsewhere! Well, it would be just her luck if the child stayed healthy until she was eighteen.

As she approached the girl’s room she remembered a guest would be joining them for dinner tonight. Just what I need! My eyes will be puffy, and I’ll have dark circles from lack of sleep. Walking into the girl’s room, she threw on the lights and bellowed at the child, Mary, wake up! You are having another dream. Wake up, child!

Mary jerked awake, tears running down her cheeks. Her huge brown eyes were swollen and red. Her small body was still shaking from the fear she experienced in the dream. Her throat felt all scratchy. In a shaky voice, Mary said, I’m sorry Ingrid, really I am. Please don’t be angry. I’ll go right back to sleep, I promise. She tried to sniff back the runny nose, wiped her tears on the back of her hand and snuggled back down into the bedcovers.

Well, Ingrid responded angrily, that is undoubtedly better than I will be able to do! and she stormed from the room, closing the door firmly, but not loudly. After all, it wouldn’t do to awaken Oliver twice in one night.

Ingrid made her way back to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. She was actually dizzy. Darned that girl, she had taken a toll on Ingrid’s patience for four years and now she was starting to impact her health. She simply had not felt like herself for the last few weeks. She was tired all the time, no doubt from these nightly interruptions in her sleep. What next, she asked herself?

The next morning both the doctor and his wife were cross and yawning all through breakfast. Suddenly Ingrid stood up ran upstairs. Eventually it was time for Mary to leave for school. She was so glad she could relax and get away from the grumpy pair.

Her best friend, Margaret Mclean, met her at the end of the sidewalk in front of the Stegman house and they walked the five blocks to the schoolhouse. Margaret looked at her friend and asked, Another nightmare?

"Yes, oh, Margaret they scare me so bad and they’re getting worse. Ingrid gets so angry, but I can’t help it. She started shaking again.

This morning she said she was so sick from losing sleep that she even threw up! she whispered making a face of childish disgust. I didn’t wake her up on purpose. Besides, she’s been throwing up a lot lately, and she’s always tired and cranky. It wasn’t my fault." Mary started to cry.

She was getting so upset that Margaret stopped her and gave her a big, warm hug. It’ll be okay, Mary. It’ll be okay. Mean old lady. Then a thought occurred to Margaret and her eyes got as big as saucers. Hey, I’ll bet she’s going to have a baby! Johnny loves to tease me about how sick Mama got before I was born. She whispered into Mary’s ear, He says babies come from kissing. Then Margaret thought about that a little more and offered, Why would anybody want to kiss mean old Ingrid?

Mary looked at her best friend and her fear was replaced with a case of giggles. Thinking more about Margaret’s reasoning for Ingrid’s recent behavior, Mary said, Oh, Margaret, it would be really sad to think of them having a baby. How could a poor little baby live in that house? The thought of it made Mary shudder. She sniffled, wiped her eyes and nose. Feeling better now, the pair headed toward school, hand in hand.

Why did Ingrid have to be so mean to Mary? Margaret wondered how anybody could treat Mary that way. It wasn’t like Mary was a bad girl. She helped in the house, said yes ma’am and no ma’am, please and thank you like Margaret’s own mother had taught her. She even curtsied like Ingrid asked her to when they had company. Gosh, no body curtsied anymore. That’s what Mama said, anyway. There was just no reason for anybody to be so mean to Mary.

Margaret, do you think my brother will ever find me? Mary asked wistfully. Oh, yes, Mary. I really do! Margaret wanted so badly to reassure her friend. Mary’s eyes were red and puffy from crying, but she smiled so brightly that Margaret just knew she’d said the right thing.

Margaret didn’t understand why, but she sometimes wondered if Mary’s brother finding her was a good thing or a bad thing. Margaret hated to see her friend treated as badly as she was in the Stegman household, but who knew what kind of life Mary’s brother could offer? Why, he could be a criminal of some sort. There were stories of really bad people living in some of the big cities; right in Chicago for goodness sake! Why, he might even have been in prison!

No! In Margaret’s estimation, Mary was better off right here; not that she would ever hurt Mary by saying so. At least this way, they had each other.

Mary was the sister Margaret had always wanted. After all, what good were two big brothers anyway? All John ever did was to tease them. Oh, he was never mean, but he was a boy, after all. And Alden? Gee Alden was so busy with girls he was seldom home these days. No, somehow she was quite sure Mary was much better off right here in Oak Park with her.

6

That’s What Brothers Are For

When Margaret returned home that evening, she was still worried about Mary. She knew that Mary was so very unhappy, but she had no idea how to help her. As she walked in the door John noticed that she was deep in thought. As much as he loved giving her a hard time, he thought he’d have to be a real jerk to pick on her when she was upset. And from the look on that face, she was really upset about something.

What’s up, kiddo? he asked.

Eat dirt and die, John! she shouted at him. She had really worked up a good case of mad and was quite willing to drop it in her brother’s lap.

Oops, he thought, so much for not upsetting her. Sometimes a guy just couldn’t win. Oh well, what are big brothers for anyway?

Whoa, kiddo! I’m sorry. He stepped toward her and lowered his voice, What’s wrong? What’s got you so upset?

Oh, John, I’m so worried about Mary.

She sounded like she would start crying any minute. That’s all I need, to have mother thinking I made the kid cry. Jeez, I just can’t catch a break! Come on, kiddo! Tell me what’s going on. John pried gently, but firmly.

Mary would never forgive me if she knew I’d told you, Margaret whined, but I just don’t know what to do to help her anymore, Johnny.

He gritted his teeth, Don’t call me Johnny, Margaret. How many times have we talked about that? His hands were on his hips and he looked really aggravated.

In a perverse little-sister way, that made her feel a little better somehow.

Sorry, she answered lowering her eyes. She kept forgetting that in his opinion his old nickname wasn’t grown up enough for him now. She had to admit, he’d told her at least a dozen times; well, okay, maybe two dozen.

Come on let’s go out back where we won’t be overheard and you can tell me all about it. I swear on Mama’s Bible, I won’t tell a soul!

John! she hissed at him. Mama will be so angry if she hears you talking like that!

He bent down and whispered in her ear, That, kiddo, is what makes it so much fun to do.

Once they sat on the back steps, John looked up to make sure the upstairs windows were closed. It would be just like mother to be sitting near an open window to listen when they thought they were safe from being overheard by coming outside.

Margaret took him at his word and told him about Mary, how the Stegmans were treating her and about Mary’s nightmares.

Wow, I knew the kid didn’t have it easy over there, but I didn’t know it was bad enough to give her nightmares! John found he was really angry about the kid being treated that way. After all, he thought, he was about four years older, so she was just a kid.

I don’t think the nightmares are about the Stegmans. She says someone is chasing her, screaming at someone named Katherine, and it’s so hot she can hardly breathe. Then she wakes up screaming for her brother, Harry.

John just slowly shook his head.

The only thing that made sense to Mary was her longing to find her brother Harry. She had told them when she first got comfortable with the family that the only things she remembered about her childhood was her mother brushing her long brown hair, and her brother’s name was Harry. Then there was the fire where she seemed to recall the neighbors burning all her toys.

Hum, I remember she told us about the fire. Her mother and father must have already died or she wouldn’t have been placed with the Stegmans. It’s really sad. Wait, you said somebody was screaming for someone named Katherine? Who’s Katherine? And a man was chasing Mary? It just doesn’t make any sense, does it? Then, in a much sadder, quieter voice he asked again, Who is Katherine? And why would anybody chase a little kid like Mary. She couldn’t have been, but three or four years old! John just couldn’t figure it out, but some things just didn’t make sense, even to a nearly grown up guy like him.

Margaret lowered her head and looked at the ground. I can just hear Mother, ‘That’s because she’d done something evil and she’s being punished until she atones. You mark my words!’ She mocked their mother’s voice and John snickered at her very good imitation.

Yeah, well just don’t say anything to Mother, he whispered to her shaking his head and laughing quietly.

Then John got serious again, I don’t guess there’s anything you can do, but be her friend, kiddo. That’s what Joe does for me. He listens when I tell him what’s going on and he’s just my best pal ever, you know? I don’t know what I’d do without Joe. You’re like that for Mary.

Yes, Margaret knew just what he meant. John knew what it was like to wake up screaming. Only John’s nightmares were very real. Every few weeks mother would decide that a boy his age must be doing things she didn’t know about, and he would wake up getting spanked with the belt for all those unknown sins he had committed during the day when she wasn’t around. Yes, John really did understand. She saw his expression darken.

I’m sorry, John. I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to make you sad, she apologized earnestly.

That’s alright, kiddo. You may be a pain in the neck, he said as he put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed, But you are my kid sister and I’m here for you when you need me, understand? he asked.

Yes, I know, Johnny.

Margaret! he said gritting his teeth again.

She grinned wide and looking up at him with a look of mock innocence and said, What, Johnny?

7

The Search Continues

Even for a cop, he was damned good at tracking and that meant he should have found her by now.

If she hadn’t died in the fire, where the hell was she? Damn it all, she had to be out there somewhere. He couldn’t understand why he couldn’t track her down. After all this time he had managed to locate a copy of her birth certificate, but that was about as far as he’d gotten. Even finding that hadn’t been easy. Records weren’t kept in the rural areas as well as they were in the big cities. There was no death certificate on file for her, but again with the records issues, he couldn’t be certain. He had to be certain!

Six years he’d been looking and he still hadn’t gotten anywhere, except to find out that she’d been hauled away by some so called social worker who was supposed to put her into an orphanage.

Well, the kid wasn’t in any orphanage. He’d checked every orphanage in the state of Minnesota. Where the hell could she be? Well, he wasn’t going to give up! That’s all there was to it. Someone was going to pay for everything that had happened. By God, he would see to it no matter how long it took.

He took off his gun holster and draped it over the chair next to the bed and lay down exhausted. Hatred kept him going. Finding the girl and getting revenge.

8

Friends Look Out For Each Other

Mary, wait for me! Margaret came running up behind her gasping for air. I’m going to be late, Margaret. You know how she gets when I’m late." An exasperated Mary kept moving at a quick pace. A panting Margaret now did her best to keep up.

Yes, I do know. Margaret scrunched up her nose and made the face. I’m sorry, Mary. Mrs. Johnson stopped me just as I was leaving the building. My English paper is late and she is not happy!

"Well, since I’m late, I won’t be able to help you tonight. Ingrid’s sure to make me pay for being late by doing the dishes and cleaning up the entire kitchen from the disaster she makes when she cooks! She’ll have me busy up to bed time. I’ll be lucky to get my own homework done."

Aw, Mary, don’t worry about me. I’ll get it done tonight. It’s almost finished. I just was enjoying Alden’s visit so much last night that I didn’t give myself enough time to finish, and I fell asleep before it was done.

As they hurried down the sidewalk they were unaware of the admiring looks of the people they passed. What a pair of beautiful twelve-years-olds they were. When other girls were gangly and awkward at twelve, these two were, each in her own way, already showing the signs of what beautiful young women they would be.

Margaret with her shoulder length blonde hair and beautiful oval, hazel eyes that almost looked blue in the right light. Her perfectly arched brows and pouty mouth set off her very lovely, delicate appearance. She always reminded Mary of a little pixie she’d seen once in a book at the library.

Mary was small with an ivory complexion, naturally rosy cheeks and a swanlike neck. Her long, dark hair reached toward her waist and shone like a mirror due to her brushing routine every night. She held her hair back with long ribbons tied in big bows. Her beautiful big, brown eyes with their long, dark lashes always looked older than her years.

How is that big brother of yours? Mary asked in a really dreamy voice and batting her eyelashes, playfully teasing her best friend. Margaret had two very cute brothers. Even at twelve years of age, Mary knew those two were more handsome than any of the other boys they knew. And Alden, well he was so